faderift | [OPEN] "At last, the Light shall shine..."

WHO: Aleron Darton and OPEN
WHAT: Catchall post for March
WHEN: Present time: March/Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold: library, tavern, Camp Shady, out and about
NOTES: If prompts provided don't work for you, we can whip up something that does.

[Aleron's a man of routine and constancy, even when his life is on the brink of being turned upside down. Every morning and evening he's in the chapel attending to daily devotions. Each afternoon, he saddles his horse and rides over the Warden camp to spend time with Bethany. A familiar face in the area now if ever there were one. In the evening, he brings a book and sometimes some correspondence to read at Herald's Rest while slowly drinking one, and only one, ale or glass of wine.

Except there's something of a hiccup or two causing a logjam to his daily schedule. Instead of disposing of his letters from his family... he's reading them. And responding to them, even! Which means even more of his time is spent in the Library attending to his correspondence. This leads to less time spent in pleasure reading or in matters of research. If this is not strange enough, his e'er unflappable expression gives way to sighs, rubbing his eyes, and leaning back in his chair to issue some silent plea to the Maker.

Afternoons are no longer spent in the training yard either. Rather, he seems quite intent on seeking out friends to make inquiries with them about wedding attendance. Which perhaps explains the flurry of mail coupled with extreme exasperation. What does it even matter if the groom's clothes are green or blue anyway? And that long-suffering sigh? Probably tied to the man having just ordered a second drink for the third night in a row at the tavern.]

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[There's a long sigh from Aleron. It's more than most people ever see of his emotions, his exasperation, his long-suffering and how sometimes it wears on him. Bethany, however, is one of the very rare and few shining exceptions to his keeping absolutely everything buttoned down. As an apology, he kisses her forehead.]

I'll ask them to stop. [Not that he expects in the least to have his wishes respected, but...] They simply must be made to understand that this is not a summer gala and we've not the space to indulge in trifles.

[Yeah good luck getting through to Mama with that one, buddy.]

If you need, send some of the excess and I'll store it with me. My belongings are few.

[She leaned up to give his cheek a comforting kiss - her poor Al. His family really is a trial for such a sensible man. She gives him a little, elegant shrug, and a smile.]

Oh, don't go and make a fuss. You know as well as I do they'll just find some other way to show their affection. However I will take you up on your offer, and store some of these gowns.

[She beamed at him, before kissing him once more.] After all, in a month's or so time, it will be our room.

Our room. I do like the sound of that.

[There is very much a part of him that rather wonders if any of these 'gifts' are pretty and how Bethany might look in them. He's got no appreciation for fashion whatsoever but is given to understand Mama and his sisters all have exceptional taste. But the practical side of him recognizes that a mountain fortress is no place for lavish clothing, no matter how beautiful he's quite certain it'd look on his betrothed.]

Though, it shan't be for too long. [Might as well tell her now and get it over with.] Once we're back from Kaiten, I'm being sent to Kirkwall.

[Which uh... brings up a whole bevy of personal problems of the excessive regret variety.]

I thought you might like that.

[She is rather wondering that herself, and whether or not she ought to pack up a few of them for their journeys. After all, she does want to make a good impression on her future in-laws, and what better way than to wear some of their gifts?

She would also ... pack some armor too though.

Especially now.]

Oh. Oh dear. [She makes a face.] Then I suppose I ought to hold off writing to your mother and get started finding ways to bribe Viscount Bran.

Bribe the Viscount? Why would he require a bribe?

[Whose head does he need to hit?]

Well darling, I don't know if I told you this ...

[And here her smile is mischievous, because he knows very well who she is, where she came from.]

But you are marrying into a rather infamous Kirkwall clan. The sentence 'Hawke in Kirkwall' probably has poor Bran tearing out his rather lovely red hair.

[Her expression became more serious.]

For all the good my sister did ... well. She is still the one who let Anders live. I am uncertain of my welcome home.

Nonsense. You will be my wife and you will be with me.

[Has Bethany ever truly seen Aleron with his heckles up? Because she's getting a fair hint of it now.

And for the first time ever in his life, he leverages his family.]

Because if you are prevented, Viscount Bran will find himself no longer receiving his shipments of the rose-scented milk soaps from Endridge.

[Look, he recognizes the name. Ravonild has absolutely no head for running the estate and since her husband died, Aleron's been in close contact with the steward keeping tabs on the business particulars of the family's holdings. Behind her back. But details.]

[Her entire expression softened at that, and she had to admit that her future husband? With his hackles up? Was very ... attractive.

Of course, that last bit just made her blink, then laugh.]

You're joking! [A moment.] Wait, you're not joking? He really gets rose-scented milk soaps?

[This is Aleron. Does he ever joke? Well, does it ever joke and it actually comes off well and humorous? Not really.]

I'm quite serious. There is a limited supply of the luxury soaps that the estate can produce in a year and the buyers are kept informed of the current supply available.

[There we have it. The man was always meant for estate management and never for something akin to a soldier's life.]

Most of our sales are to select noble buyers and certain wealthy merchants in Antiva. Demand is high and they always command a premium price. [A small shrug.] The income keeps Ravonild in her ridiculous supply of dresses, though I doubt she realizes it.

[He doesn't usually ... but Bethany supposes there is a first time for everything.

Except not now, because this really is about rose-scented milk soaps. She blinks at him for a moment, because it is a marvel he can remember All That from those few letters he gets from his sister's stewards.

After a moment, one corner of her mouth lifted, then the other, and she let out a laugh.]

Imagine! The fate of the world rests on fine smelling soaps. This sounds like something Varric would write.

[OPEN] "At last, the Light shall shine..."

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